


Macklinton

by MysticMoonhigh



Category: Political RPF, musical RPF
Genre: Cute, First Time Meeting, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Music, a very lame attempt at humor, implied sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 15:22:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2855672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysticMoonhigh/pseuds/MysticMoonhigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The previously untold (and probably should have stayed that way) love story of Bill Clinton and Macklemore <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Macklinton

**Author's Note:**

> The picture was made by my dear friend Padaleckidalek-fallen-angel, who is amazing and the biggest Macklinton shipper (other than myself) that I know! Please if you enjoyed this fic follow her or myself (MysticMoonhigh) on tumblr. Thank you SO MUCH!

When Bill Clinton first laid eyes on our idol Macklemore, it was in a press conference, surrounded by reporters. Even then, Macklemore stood out in the crowd. And not because he's famous.

No. In fact, Macklemore was disguised as to blend into the crowd, a camera in hand and a smile on his face. Sure, he liked to rap, but that's not what his _real_ passion was. No, his _real_ passion, was-

“Oh! Excuse me, young man.” Bill Clinton said, as he ran right into Macklemore. Macklemore's heart started beating harder in his chest, to the steady beat of _Thrift Shop_. “I didn't see you there. You're shorter than the other press members. You should probably consider wearing some high heels.”

“T-Thanks for the advice, Mr. President sir.” Macklemore stuttered, absolutely stunned. His absolute _idol,_ Bill Clinton himself, had given him advice. He actually could not, physically believe that this was happening to him.

“Well, I need to get going. Have a nice day,” Bill announced, loudly. The press swooned at his choice of words. Not because they were particularly special or poetic, but because he was the fucking president and the press would romanticize it if he took a shit on the carpet. He leaned down close to Macklemore's ear and whispered, “I know who you are, Macklemore. I'll be seeing you later.”

Before Macklemore could react to that, (dammit, he thought his disguise was better!) the president was gone, leaving behind only the secret security personnel giving him dirty looks and the faint scent of old people.

~~~~ 

When Macklemore got home, he took off your grandpa's coat and hung it up on the coat rack he got from your aunt. Of course, your mother's panties lying on the living room floor were not a gift, but were left by accident. 

He walked into the kitchen and stretched out, working his sore muscles. Reaching into his pocket for the key to his safe, (he had decided to order takeout because he was famous and shouldn't have to cook for himself,) he found a small slip of folded up paper. 

He tilted his head, pulling it out to further inspect the strange object. 

There, written neatly in the sprawling, shaky cursive of the elderly, was a phone number. 

Macklemore smiled to himself. “Bill, you sly old, old,  _really fucking old_ fox.”

~~~~ 

Months later, things had progressed with Bill. They had seen each other three times, which was more than Bill usually saw the people he cheated on his wife with. Most of them got kicked out the next morning, never to be called again. Macklemore was different. 

Macklemore was “not like other girls”. Partially because Macklemore identified as a boy, but there were other things, too. I promise. For example, the rapping career, and he didn't have to deal with sexism in the media. 

One night, after hot and steamy sex that lasted a whole ten minutes, (a new record for Bill) Macklemore sighed contentedly. 

“You know, in the end, it wasn't that I keep my room straight, my uncle was, or that I could draw that let me know I was gay. It was the fact that I let you put your dick up my ass, Clinton.” He said, affectionately. 

“Sorry,” Bill responded, after a moment. “I was focusing on the prayers of my followers. I have to absorb their energy in order to retain my youthful skin and longevity. I hope you'll forgive me, Mabeline.”

“It's Macklemore, actually. And you have followers who pray to you? No way,” Macklemore said. He actually thought for a little while that he was the only one!

“Of course I do. An entire physics class just prayed to me to lead them through their first test of the year. They thanked me for leading the country through the revolutionary war, the civil war, the cold war, that thing with Canada that's been erased from any kind of historical document, and all other altercations. I feed off of their devotion.”

“You weren't around for half of those things and at least one of them is fake.” Mabeline- I mean, Macklemore, said. Bill Clinton chuckled, shaking his head.

“Oh Mac-n-cheese,” He said, wisely, “I am eternal. I am omnipowerful. I have lead us through everything.”

Macklemore paused, absorbing this information. 

“I can dig.”

~~~~~ 

Their one year anniversary was coming up, and Macklemore was excited. Sure Bill had forgotten, but he forgot his wife's name all the time, and he'd gotten Macklemore's right the last four times in a row. So something silly like an anniversary could be forgotten.

Macklemore appeared at the white house and was greeted by security. He glared at the head of them, knowing that he protected Bill when Macklemore himself could not. He wanted only to be with Bill and protect him and love him, so why did this guy get the right? Oh, that's right.

Macklemore's  _real_ passion was-

“Right this way, sir.” One of the guards said, grabbing his arm and leading him through the foyer. He stopped just outside of a strange room, gesturing in. “The president will now see you.”

Macklemore held his breath as he stepped into the room, the dark and steamy atmosphere immediately getting the better of him. 

There, laying in the center of the floor, in front of a roaring fire and perched on a bearskin rug, was perched Bill Clinton. He was naked and had a saxophone in his fingers, the saxophone song (you all know which one I'm fucking talking about) wafting through the air.

“Awww, Bill, how did you know Cards Against Humanity was my favorite game?” Macklemore asked, affection oozing from his very pores. Bill stopped playing, confused.

“What are you talking about?”

“Cards Against Humanity, like apples to apples? It has a card in it that exactly describes this situation.” Macklemore said. Bill shrugged, his wrinkly skin dragging sensually against the animal's fur.

“I was just enjoying some smooth jazz.”

“Oh, Bill,” Macklemore said, shaking his head and clucking his tongue. “You drive me crazy.”

“Okay. Now come on, you have to slam the oven door while I play this thing. Hilary isn't home.” He said, enthusiastically. “I have to prove I am “down” and “groovy” with the younger generation.”

“Yeah, okay.” Macklemore agreed as Bill Clinton proceeded to streak through the white house and down to the kitchen.

~~~~ 

Clinton and Macklemore's love only grew as time went on. They were truly inseparable. 

Which was why Bill had Macklemore fly with him to deal with foreign policies.

“You know, Bill,” Macklemore said. “My parents are the ones who wanted me to be a rapper. My _real_ passion is-”

Just then, a waitress tripped over him and spilled alcohol down the front of his T-shirt. She apologized profusely, but he waved her off.

“It's fine, this T-Shirt isn't $50 or anything.” He said, waving his hand. After an awkwardly weird amount of silence between them, (Bill was reading _Sailor Moon_ ) Macklemore spoke up again, something occurring to him. “Hey Bill, how are you still able to get an erection at your age? I mean, I've never seen you take a viagra, and we've done plenty.”

Bill looked up from the book, marking his page mentally. “I just think about your face, McNuggets,” Macklemore's heart soared, “Photoshopped onto the body of a playboy model.”

Macklemore laughed. Bill Clinton gazed on, perplexed. He genuinely didn't get what was so funny. 

“What?”

“WHAT WHAT WHAT.” Macklemore bleated back, out of habit. He then cleared his throat. “Sorry, it's just. You. Just you, Bill. You make me feel old. I mean, age is just a number when it comes to you, and before that, numbers had always mattered to me. For example, I always keep $20 in my pocket. That number matters. Your age doesn't, dog. It's one of the few numbers I don't care about.”

“That's probably because I am so young and hip. Look at this awesome mango I checked out from the library.” He said, waving up his manga. Macklemore rolled his eyes. 

After a moment of silence, Bill spoke up again. “You're my senpai, Macy's.”

“And you're mine too, whatever the fuck that means.” Macklemore responded.

Their love was a little unconventional, sure. But they had each other. And in the end, isn't that what really matters?

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Also, I would like to thank my physics class of '14 for praying to Bill Clinton and giving me inspiration for the bedroom scene. All of you rock, especially mah Teach.


End file.
